British Columbia

When I was 12, Ladina 11, Trenda 9 and Maria 6, going on 7, we traveled to British Columbia, Canada. We had some double first cousins living at Dunster, BC. Lester Martin, Mom's brother, married Norma Skrivseth, Dad's sister. We rarely got to see these cousins. Fifteen hundred miles is a long way to travel as we quickly found out.

Dad had made a camper trailer that we pulled behind our car. It folded out, a bed on each side propped up on sturdy legs, and a tent popped up - with Dad directing the whole set up and all of us helping with our varied abilities.

We took our time, stopping to visit friends on the way. One of our stops was Wild Rose ND to visit Ken and Lorene Meagher. Also Coalridge MT where we stopped to see Mark and Florence Harshbarger and family.

I don't know if we stopped on our way to Canada? Or on the way home. Hmm! It would be fun to read an old diary or journal of the trip. None of us were keeping diaries yet. Unless Dad wrote everything down - where we stopped to camp, fill up with gas, etc.

Another stop was in Duchess Alberta, close to Brooks AB. More distant cousins live there. Again I don't know if we did the Mennonite - your - way on the trip up to BC then stayed at camp grounds on our way home or if we mixed them up ... doing some of each, coming and going.

Sometimes I remember trips by the books I read as we traveled. I remember filling the long hours of this trip with word searches. Whole books of them!

After we finally reached the mountains we had lots of scenery to observe. Sometimes we'd yell, "Look at that _____!" You fill in the blank - lake, mountain, road, tree, animal. Then, just as quickly we'd tell Dad, "No, don't look! Keep your eyes on the road!"

I spent a lot of time in my grade school years reading adventure stories of people heading for Oregon. This wasn't Oregon but there were mountains and switchbacks for roads. We talked a lot about the miracle of driving on a trip for three maybe four days, arriving at our destination, unscathed.

It didn't take months of hard slogging with wagons losing a wheel now and then. Dealing with raiding Indians, disease, death. Throwing out cherished items at the side of the trail to lighten the load for the weak, starving oxen that were pulling our wagon.

No, we just breezed along in our air conditioned station wagon, pulling our sleeping quarters behind us. We had ice in the ice chest to keep our food cold. Water to drink. Books to read. Word searches to puzzle over. Eyes to see all the beautiful panorama around us!

Words cannot describe Banf and Jasper parks. Our first sight of Mt. Robson, 12972 ft. my atlas tells me. The peak, so rarely visible because it's usually covered with clouds, was visible for us that day.